


Loving You is Killing Me

by Bloopydoo (UNDERTALESIN)



Category: Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Hanahaki Disease, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Suicide, Trans Character, Transphobia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNDERTALESIN/pseuds/Bloopydoo
Summary: An upcoming marriage throws a wrench into Gordon's life, leaving him reeling.As he struggles with juggling wedding preparations and work stress, it's a matter of time before everything comes crashing down.The flowers are so very beautiful, aren't they?Thanks to @katdamn and @hoisinn for beta reading, y'all amazing humansTell me if I missed any tags, thank you





	1. Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Recommend listening to Joji (especially will he, SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK, Medicine) and Moondust (James Young) for appropriate mood
> 
> Also Merry Christmas. Sorry for the angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which news is announced and discoveries are made

Gordon’s stomach dropped as the news was announced. Henry didn’t know what he was doing to him. It felt like intense vertigo, solid land dissolving beneath him. It burnt the edges of his vision black and sent chills down his spine.

And yet, he could not fault Henry on any account. Henry deserved someone like Edward. Edward was a supportive, positive person; Gordon was little more than a cruel and bitter product of a ruthless family. Edward was superior in every way to the sharp-tongued fool who could not even praise the object of his affection without a backhanded compliment thrown in. Edward, without even knowing it, had beaten the one who prided himself on his excellence. Forget excellence, Gordon wasn’t even average. His once-brother’s words echoed through his mind.  
  
_“Watch yourself, Gordon. You think you’re so perfect? One day you’ll see everything you love come crashing down around you, everyone who loves you will be gone, and you’ll have no-one but yourself. On that day, you’ll understand.”_  
  
He had to say, Scott was right. All those years ago, when Scott had decided to show his true self to their family only to be shunned and abandoned for it. Gordon had screamed at Scott like all the others, panicked and terrified of what his brother had unleashed upon himself. Yet he’d been the only one at Scott’s funeral who’d cried. The others had stood by his grave with faces of stone, while Gordon wept for his brother. When Bittern and Mallard had driven him home, he’d locked himself in his room to grieve. He could still taste the salty tears on his cheeks.  
  
Wait.  
  
Those were fresh tears.  
  
Henry looked over in concern. “Gordon? Why are you crying? Are you alright?”

“I’m not crying,” Gordon spluttered indignantly. “I’ve just got something in my eye!”  
  
As Henry gave him a hug, laughing gently, Gordon couldn’t help but wish he’d been smacked for being sad instead.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
When Gordon got back to his apartment that night, he didn’t bother to put his clothes neatly into the laundry basket as usual. Instead, he tossed the clothes in the general direction of the hamper, and stumbled into the bathroom for a nice, long soak. He sighed quietly, relaxing as the warm water soothed his aching muscles. Everything _hurt_. He lay in the water until it became lukewarm, then cold.  
  
As his frustration and despair bubbled up to the surface, he curled up between the tub's alabaster walls, swearing quietly. He felt ill. As something unfamiliar rose up like bile in the back of his throat, he let his head rest on the smooth ceramic. The cool helped with the migraine he could feel developing.  
  
As a stream of flowers and petals emerged from his mouth, Gordon was fairly sure this day couldn’t get any worse.

After barfing up all the flowers he could, he stumbled back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, and riffled through his jacket pockets to find his phone. Returning to the bathroom, a quick search on Google provided an explanation.  
  
_“Hanahaki disease is a condition usually preceded by unrequited romantic affection. The diseased person will have flowers begin to grow in the lungs and heart. Symptoms may include oral expulsion of botanical material, fever, chills and breathing difficulties. If unresolved, Hanahaki disease can be fatal. The growing roots may obstruct or puncture the lungs and heart, choking the victim in flowers and their own blood."_  
  
Gordon would have laughed if he'd had the energy. Of all things, an unrequited love disease that made flowers grow inside you? _Really?_ He didn’t need this wreaking havoc on his life.  
  
It didn't help that Henry loved flowers. What irony: dying of something another cherished. Was this some sort of cosmic punishment for being a shit person? It was the _worst_ time for this to be happening, his immune system _completely shot_ with work and emotional stress.  
  
Staring at the oddly unblemished flowers in the bathtub, he idly began looking them up.  
  
Anemone in red: unrequited love  
Anemone in purple: protection from evil  
Blue roses: an unattainable goal

The single cyclamen meant separation, topped off with a smattering of black rose petals.  
With every new definition, he felt his energy drain further. Even this accursed disease mocked him. He pulled the plug and let the water gurgle quietly out of the tub.

He fell asleep, damp and alone in the bathroom floor, surrounded by flowers.


	2. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get worse and Gordon has terrible coping mechanisms.

Gordon woke to the scent of roses. Disoriented and confused, he'd smacked face first into the door, and fell back into the bathtub. Last night's flowers cushioned his fall a little, and he sat groaning and massaging his head. Every fibre of his being _ached_.  
  
After rummaging around in the flowers for his phone, he grimaced at the time. He dearly wanted another few hours of sleep, but if he didn't get to work on time Henry would smell a rat. If Henry found out about the Hanahaki...Gordon wasn’t sure what he’d do, or whether he would have the courage to confess to Henry. It would also likely upset Henry immensely. Sighing quietly, he pushed himself carefully out of the tub.  
  
He managed to clear most of the now squashed blooms from his bathroom, before getting ready for work. Before he was even a step out the door, he had to run back and dump an entire bouquet of orange lilies into the sink. Still coughing up petals, he dashed out of his apartment.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Work was uneventful, although every mention of the upcoming wedding drove another knife into his heart. It pained him to see Henry with someone else (someone better than him, his mind helpfully reminded), but if Henry was happy Gordon really had no right to complain.  
  
He'd been finishing up some particularly dull paperwork when his phone buzzed. Balancing the sheaf of paper on one hand and his phone in the other, he read the message quickly.  
  
With shaking hands, he put the paper back on the photocopier and typed out a reply.  
  
“Sure I'll be involved in the planning Henry. What would you like me to do?”  
  
“Oh, the venue and catering and stuff have been chosen. Just, could you do the flowers? The ones you brought for the staff luncheon on Thursday were nice.”  
  
God. Dammit.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Gordon was tempted to slam the door of his apartment as he entered, he was having such a shit week! ~~It wasn’t Henry’s fault. He knew that, but it didn’t make the pain easier to bear.~~  
But he didn’t slam the door because his neighbours would definitely complain. Complaints always made it back to the family, who would punish him accordingly.  
  
_Memories of Scott in a puddle of blood, salty tears and bitter desperation on his tongue_  
  
Why, oh why did it always have to be like this? Logically, he wasn't responsible for any of this but damn, did life enjoy making him feel like he was. Or maybe it was just his family’s criticism worming its way back into his brain. He never had been good enough for them. Not ruthless enough. Always too soft.  
  
A bitter mouthful of orange lilies made it into the sink, but only just. The flowers symbolised hatred and pride in that colour, how accurate!  
  
Fuck this, he needed a glass of wine.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Two thirds of the way through a delightfully dry Yarra Valley Chardonnay (who was he kidding, he got smashed on the cheapest boxed wine he could find) he was feeling a little better.  
  
If by ‘a little better’ you meant ‘wanting to stab oneself’.  
  
He was drunk, so at least the pain was temporarily numbed. And if there were flowers in his vomit tomorrow he could always claim a wild night.  
  
Staggering into his bathroom once more, he poured at least a few basket's worth of petunias (the flower of anger and resentment) into the bathtub. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel the usual nausea that accompanied alcohol-induced vomiting. As that queasy feeling suddenly rose up in the back of his throat, he rushed over to the toilet.  
  
Wiping his face with a wad of toilet paper, he groaned from both exhaustion and disgust, and curled up in a ball next to the sink.  
  
So much for a nice glass of wine. He'd be on the vodka by the end of the week.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Waking up to the stench of vomit was not pleasant, but Gordon didn't care for once. The past week had been revealing, and his standards of living had already dropped to unbelievable lows. His relatives would have immediately disowned him had they known. Well, maybe not all of them. Mallard might understand, although he was just as likely to leave Gordon in a shark tank to fend for himself.  
  
Mallard was cruel like that. Even if you were genuinely his friend, you couldn’t be sure. He could switch alliances and betray people faster than a mantis shrimp could punch. His moods were mercurial at best. Oddly enough, he was one of the most tolerable in the family. He and Canada were the ones Gordon trusted the most. Spencer and Bittern, however…less so.  
  
After taking a shower to clean off the residue from last night's alcohol, Gordon examined the flowers in the bathtub. The petunias oddly hadn't wilted or shrunk in any way, perfect and pristine as the day they'd entered that bathtub. The lilies in the kitchen were the same. But the flowers he'd fallen on top of yesterday had rotted and wilted into a muddy mess in his garbage bin, so why were these surviving?  
  
Gordon gathered the flowers into every vase he had in the apartment, some with water and some not, just to see if they'd last indefinitely. If they did, (and this was a little morbid) he could use them in the flower arrangements for the wedding. ~~God he was so nasty.~~ It was better than having to buy the whole lot, although he had to buy other flowers. One couldn't have a wedding with purely anemone flowers, could they?  
  
Gordon needed some space to think, so he went the only place that gave him any peace anymore. He bought a bouquet of white gladioli flowers and a notebook, and went to visit Scott.


	3. Reminiscing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gordon visits his brother, tries introspection, and deals with his cousin's spite.

His brother's headstone was just as he remembered it, the carved granite nicked and weathered after ten years. The small, sun-bleached photo of Scott when he'd still been alive only somewhat discernible. Gordon had been pleading with his family to refresh the photo for a few years, but the idea was always shrugged off. They never had any respect for the dead.

Considering the skeletons buried beneath their empire, this might have been an idiotic move on their part.

Setting the flowers in the provided vase, Gordon sprawled on the grass next to the headstone. His headache was coming back, but he wasn't bothered to walk up the hill to get painkillers from his car. He definitely wasn't this lazy last week but he was in no state to care. He took the notebook out and meticulously wrote his musings and recent events down, dating them for future organisation.

There were always those who’d claimed that Scott and Gordon were unnaturally close, but Gordon tended to ignore them. There had been those who said they were more than brothers, but the business moguls of the family had suppressed those rumours long ago. That was one thing, he supposed, that was alright about them. Because they obsessed over their ‘image’, they would defend tooth and nail against gossip. But the rumours were partially true - just not in the same sense.

Gordon and Scott were unusually close yes, but Scott was more of a confidante and supporter than anything else. Scott could calm him down better than anyone, yes, but only because they spent so much time together. They had once been recognised as an inseparable and invincible business partnership. Before…

Gordon couldn’t pursue that train of thought right now. Not even here, with only the dead to judge him, could he unpack that night's tragedy. A cold breeze blew across the cemetery, causing the buttercups to tremble in the wind.

Gordon burst out laughing. It was incongruous and it was sudden and it stopped as quickly as it arrived but he just couldn't help it. Buttercups, the flower of childishness, growing beside the grave of the most mischievous but loving and perfect person he'd ever known. In the abrupt silence after his laughter, he heard a car.

It was Bittern, holding a ragged mix of wilting buttercups and sunflowers. Immaturity and pride together, laid spitefully. Gordon was **furious**.  
  
“Bittern, what is _that_?”

She scoffed, before gesturing with the bouquet in the general direction of Scott’s grave. “I just wanted to leave a present befitting my dear departed cousin. What, am I supposed to let you monopolise his sorrow?”

Gordon nearly growled. How dare she!

“You never cared for him. Speak plainly for once in your life! You only want to salvage your image with a veiled insult to both of us.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is it the flowers? I can go get cyclamen and roses if you really care so much. And besides, if they bother you, why not pull the weeds from your sibling's grave?”

“I would not presume to control nature's acts. Let what is wild grow where it will, but _you will not desecrate his grave so lightly_.”

She huffed in mild annoyance, threw the flowers at his feet, and drove off in a car too gaudy and expensive to hide her insecurities. Perhaps Bittern had brought the right flowers, but she should have kept them. Gordon lay back on the grass, staring at the slowly darkening clouds, and wondered how he and Scott survived as long as they did.


	4. Setting Plans in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gordon organises some things, meets an old friend and regrets his choices.

When he had some time to himself, Gordon began to actually plan his next course of action. With the Hanahaki progressing as it was, he wasn’t sure he’d even make the wedding. He’d have to get the flowers delivered by someone else if he wanted to guarantee the flowers’ arrival.

 

He sent an old friend a few quick texts, offering to meet up. He wouldn’t get a reply yet, but it was a step in the right direction.

 

He was right about the flowers not wilting unless physically damaged so he could, in fact, use them for the wedding. It would be nice to have at least a small part of him make it to the wedding, even if he didn’t. A mix of roses and white sweet pea could add variety to the arrangements, and white tulips might also be appropriate. The wedding was set for early April, and Henry adored cherry blossoms...He needed to talk to Hiro, a florist he knew from a couple of previous functions. Hiro would likely be more than happy to help for something like this. The sap always did love weddings.

 

His phone buzzed. “Can you make Wednesday evening at Paxton’s? I’m pretty busy the whole week afterwards. Judging by your texts this sounds pretty important.”

 

Gordon sent an affirmative, booked an appointment with Hiro, and pulled another boxed wine from under his desk. Gordon poured out the wine into a repurposed plastic popcorn bucket with a straw and tiny paper umbrella taped to it, and settled in for the evening, ready to binge on the last season of Downton Abbey. If he finished that, he’d move on to The Great British Bake Off.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Slipping into one of the side booths at Paxton’s was a relatively simple matter. A quiet word to the server and a few notes crossing palms had guaranteed some privacy. Gordon was grateful. He was taking what he could get, honestly.

 

As Diesel slid into the booth opposite him, Gordon didn’t miss his friend’s wince upon catching sight of his sickly pallor. They ordered quietly, and Gordon ordered a cheap but genuinely nice wine - Claire Creek Merlot. After the server was gone, Diesel wasted no time laying into him.

 

“What the hell happened to you? You look like someone dragged you backwards through a hedge with your pants around your ankles."

When Gordon didn’t reply, Diesel’s face softened slightly. “I’m sorry, that was rude. But really, you look like shit. Did you get in a bar fight or something? Lover’s spat?”

 

“I’ve got Hanahaki.”

 

The way Diesel’s eyes bugged out would have been comical at any other time, but his distress was painfully clear. It had taken Daisy a rather severe instance of Hanahaki disease for Diesel to finally admit his feelings for her, and reciprocate her love. The doctors had said that if Diesel had deluded himself for even a week more, Daisy would have died.

 

“Gordon, that’s serious! Who are they? Do they even know?!”

Gordon frantically gestured at Diesel to calm down. “I know it’s serious, but there’s not a lot I can do about it.”

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do about it?! _Gordon-_ ”

“ **_They’re getting married, Diesel!_ **”

 

Diesel went silent. Gordon let out a shaky sigh and took a sip of wine to steady himself. The familiar taste of alcohol was almost comforting.

Ah. He was now an alcoholic.

 

Gordon, I-”

“Diesel, it’s fine. I didn’t say anything, so you made reasonable assumptions.” Gordon murmured, avoiding Diesel’s gaze on the pretext of checking that none of the bystanders had noticed his outburst. “It’s a lot more complicated than you and Daisy.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, until Diesel mustered up the courage to continue the conversation.

 

“So, why are you not sweeping this lucky girl into your arms and just being done with everything? Does she hate you?”

“...He. Henry is male.”

“Oh. Sorry. You are really firmly in the closet, right?”

Gordon shook his head tiredly. “That’s not the reason I’m doing this, nor is it relevant. They...They’re just very much in love with each other. I don’t want to make Henry unhappy for my sake.”

“If you’re dying, you have to make a choice.”

“It wouldn’t be a choice that makes me happy.”

“If you die, no one is happy.”

 

Gordon snorted quietly at that. “I’m sure my family would be fine with that. In fact, Bittern would probably dance on my grave. Spencer wouldn’t be much better.”

 

Diesel made a sound of disgust at the thought of Gordon’s family. He’d met Bittern at a gala long ago, and thought she was an absolute bitch. Arry and Bert busted his ass about the ‘accidental’ champagne stain, and he’d been unable to borrow a suit for months.

 

“Tch. They probably would. But honestly -” He reached across the table to grasp Gordon’s hand gently. “- Henry would grieve if you died.”

 

Gordon instinctively twitched, nearly jerking his hand away. He sighed, forcing himself to relax. “He’d eventually move past it. We’re not that close.”

 

Diesel huffed. He hated when Gordon got defensive. He wouldn’t listen to anyone, and usually stormed off to sulk. They were saved from talking by the food’s arrival.

 

Diesel started on his pasta to give the conversation a break, while Gordon picked at his steak. As his last meal with Diesel, he would’ve liked to sit on the wharf eating fish and chips while throwing bits into the air for the seagulls to catch, like he’d used to do with Scott. But that wouldn’t have been appropriate, and his family would’ve found out. ~~He didn’t need to lose another friend.~~

 

When they’d finished Diesel got right to business. “So why did you want to talk to me?”

“I want you to deliver the floral arrangements for the wedding. I need someone I can trust to handle this.”

Diesel nodded thoughtfully. “I take it money is a non-issue?”

“Yes,” Gordon confirmed. “But the flowers need to get there undamaged. If they so much as get scratched they’ll turn brown, which is exceedingly obvious on white petals.”

Diesel reached across the table and shook Gordon’s hand, before the waiter slid the bill onto their table.


	5. Motivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more things fall into place, Gordon meets a very special duo, and some disturbing information is uncovered.

Gordon left his appointment with Hiro, satisfied. The florist had been incredibly enthusiastic, and produced multiple gorgeous designs for Gordon to approve, all of which were suitable for the most magnificent of weddings. Hiro had squealed like an excited child when Gordon asked about cherry blossoms, briefly struggling to convey himself in English.

 

Gordon would show Henry and Edward the physical designs on Monday. He hoped he’d find them as impressive as he had. Hiro had put a lot of work into them.

 

A small part of him, deep down, questioned why he was doing this. Why he was going to such lengths for a wedding that was ultimately a constant reminder of how terrible of a person he was, and how badly he’d messed up his own life with minimal effort. Then again, who even cared why anyways, not like he was going to live long enough to regret it.

 

As he was approaching his car, he noticed a pair of boys were tugging at an older man’s arm, saying something he could not hear. Their heated voices piqued Gordon’s curiosity. As he got closer, he better understood what was being said.

 

“Stephen, please! We need food!”

“Please, sir!  _ Please! _ ”

“I’m starving, please!”

 

Without a word, Stephen yanked the two along the street. He seemed determined, but Gordon was unsure what he was determined to do.

 

“You cost me dearly. I won’t care for you any longer.”

 

Gordon watched from a distance, just to be sure that Stephen had actually left his children on the street, before he moved closer. The older child was watching him, eyes narrowed, while the younger was in quiet tears.

 

“Who was that?”

 

The eldest child merely glared, but the younger began to sob. “Stephen’s never coming back, we’re going to starve!” He turned to the older, pulling on his sleeve. “Thomas, what are we going to do?” He buried his face in Thomas’ side, whimpering.

 

Thomas comforted the younger boy while looking positively murderous, ready to stab Gordon if he made a wrong move. But Gordon simply sat on the pavement next to them, rifling through his bag. He knew he had a muesli bar or another snack in here...

 

He held an apricot muesli bar out. The younger reached for it, but Thomas snatched it out of his hand before he could touch the snack. Tearing open the package, Thomas crunched a bit off the end. He stared at Gordon, as if expecting it to be poisoned. When he showed no symptoms, he handed the bar to the younger boy who devoured it.

 

“I’m Thomas. Shorty over here is Percy.”

“Hello, Thomas and Percy. I’m Gordon and my life is a mess.”

 

Percy appeared slightly put out by this deadpan statement. Thomas only laughed. Gordon managed to find a box of Tic-Tacs, and gave them to a very excited Thomas. As they munched on their snacks, Gordon asked quiet questions about Stephen. He was debating whether or not he should take these kids to a police station, when Thomas made a comment about Stephen once coughing up a purple hyacinth for a magic trick.

 

Stephen had accidentally drunk a heavily acidic drink as part of a prank by the two, and proceeded to cough up not only flowers, but an entire root system too. Apparently, Stephen said something about ‘not feeling it anymore’. He had gotten really depressed for a while before becoming irrational and aggressive. He had dragged them out of the house mumbling about them costing him something immeasurably important. Now, they had been abandoned on the street corner. 

 

Gordon had a pretty good idea of the possible cause behind Stephen’s anger. If that root ball was related to Hanahaki, it stood to reason that damaging it altered the source of those emotions. If the flowers were removed, then the emotion...He shuddered. Losing your love for another would be devastating, especially if it was strong enough to initiate Hanahaki. He made a mental note not to ingest anything detrimental to his health... ~~ Although he wasn’t about to stop drinking. ~~

 

Thomas and Percy were more than happy to accompany Gordon to a local police station, where Gordon left them in custody with his contact details. He hinted he might not be available for very long, but if they needed to talk to him, they were welcome to call.

 

During dinner, he got a call from the authorities.

“Is this Gordon? We’d just like to inform you that Stephen was suffering from Hanahaki.”

He knew it. But was Stephen okay? He seemed pretty unbalanced at the time…

“He is scheduled to attend therapy for the resultant anger issues and other instabilities, in light of his actions toward the children. Speaking of which-“

 

There was a brief rustling noise, before two familiar voices became clear.

 

“Hi Mister Gordon!”

“ _ Percy, we’re trying to talk, not deafen him! _ ”

“Sorry Thomas. Hi Mister Gordon, sorry I was loud. We just wanted to thank you for-“

“The apricot muesli.”

“I know! The apricot muesli and the…er…”

“Tic-Tacs, Percy.”

“Oh yeah! The Tic-Tacs! Thanks for the snacks Mister Gordon, they were very nice.”

“Percy, you gotta finish up, we’re going home soon.”

“Okay, Thomas! Bye Mister Gordon, thanks very much!”

 

It was cute, but it wasn’t enough to sweep the day’s events from his mind. Gordon hadn’t slept that night, thoughts churning constantly as Brooklyn Nine-Nine blared in the background. He kept thinking about what might have happened if he’d tried to remove his flowers.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

The next morning, he got another voicemail from Thomas and Percy.

“Hi Mister Gordon, we just wanted to thank you again for your help, and the snacks.”

“Tell him about Stephen, Thomas!”

“So, Stephen’s doing better, he went to therapy last night and he came back and apologised afterwards. We’re hoping he’ll keep going, because he seems a little better today. We just wanted to thank you for everything.”

“Thank him for the snacks, Thomas!”

“Okay, Percy! Geez, we should never have given you apricots. Thank you Mister Gordon for the snacks, Percy and I enjoyed them very much.”

“Thomas!”

“Percy, what are you…Oh GOD! Uh, bye Mister Gordon, have a nice day. HOW’D YOU MANAGE TO GET STUCK IN THE DRYER PERCY WHAT THE HE-” Beep.

 

The voicemail brought to mind the question from when he’d met them: why was he helping Henry when ultimately it would only make him feel terrible?

 

It was because it made others happy, he decided. It made others feel better and Gordon was damn well going to make someone feel happy, even if he felt like shit.  ~~ Just like Scott used to do for him. ~~ If he could make a few people, especially Henry, happy before the flowers killed him...well that would just be the greatest achievement of his life, wouldn’t it?  _ Honestly, that wasn’t a very high bar. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you caught the mirror of Gordon and Scott with Thomas and Percy.


	6. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which backstory is given, and Scott's fate is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Suicide, guns

Everything was progressing well, the wedding planning going ahead smoothly. Henry and Edward had loved Hiro’s designs, and Diesel had everything ready to go for the arrangements’ delivery. Gordon’s purple anemone flowers had made it into the final arrangements, as well as the forget-me-not blooms and cherry blossoms Edward and Henry suggested. The buck parties were soon, and everything seemed perfect.

 

Gordon found himself back next to Scott’s grave with zinnias, rosemary and crimson roses. He lay on his back in the grass and stared up at the slow-moving clouds. If he squinted, that one looked like a boat, that one a plane, that one a steam engine. He sighed softly.

 

“How did we end up like this, Scott? I...I should never have left you alone that night. No matter how angry or scared we were, we were supposed to stick together. I...”

 

He paused as the memories came flooding back.

 

\----------------------------

 

Honestly, no one wanted to be there that night. It was a family dinner that everyone had tried to avoid, save Nigel and his cronies. Gordon and Scott were seated beside each other, doing their level best to avoid conversation.

 

The air simmered with tension.

 

Gordon sensed Scott had something in mind, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Whatever it may be, Gordon was worried about it.

 

Halfway through the meal, Scott placed his silverware onto his plate with a soft clink. It wasn’t loud, but it grabbed Nigel’s attention like a fox’s scent would to a bloodhound’s. Gordon was filled with a soul-deep dread.

 

“I have something I have to tell everyone.”

 

And Scott had told them all. Revealed himself trustingly to a family that should have supported him, that should have valued him for his merits and not abhorred him for his preferences. Nigel was shaking in barely restrained anger as he spoke. 

“Get out.”

 

Scott’s head shot up, eyes wide, before it dropped once more in despair. He stood, pushing his chair back with a scrape that echoed in the silence. Scott’s pace was measured until he got to the door, at which point he bolted.

 

Gordon put his cutlery down silently before racing after him.

 

“Scott, what have you done?!” 

 

Gordon had pulled Scott aside in the corridor, hands trembling and adrenaline flowing through his body. They’d never gone against the family like this, and Gordon remembered the vicious flame in Nigel’s eyes. He’d been about to get up but Canada and Mallard held him back by his arms.

 

Scott huffed, crossing his arms and scowling at Gordon. “What do you want me to do, hide who I am for the rest of my life? You’re just like me, Gordon! You know what it is to hide constantly from them!” 

 

“That’s not what I meant!” Gordon spluttered. “You just sprung it on them suddenly. It’ll be like a kicked anthill out there! We had a plan, and we were doing it!”

“It was going too slowly!” 

“You knew it was going to be slow, Scott! We couldn’t rush it!” 

“I’m rushing it now, Gordon! It’s  _ working _ !  **Can’t you see?!** ” 

“ **No, I can’t! If you’re going to do this without me, then YOU CAN DO IT ON YOUR OWN!** ” 

 

Scott took a step back like Gordon had physically hit him. His eyes watered slightly, and his lip trembled the way it had when they were kids, but now he was miserable and terrified. Gordon sighed and looked away. 

 

“Scott, I-” He hadn’t meant to do that. He felt betrayed, hated that Scott diverged from their plan without him asking, but he was only worried about Scott, only trying to stop Scott from getting hurt. 

 

“No, Gordon. Just...leave.” 

“Little Bro-” 

“ **NO!** ” Scott was glaring at Gordon. “You don’t get to call me that. _ Not anymore, Gordon. _ ”

“Scott,-” 

 

Then Scott had uttered the words that would become seared into Gordon’s memory.

 

_ “Watch yourself, Gordon. You think you’re so perfect? One day you’ll see everything you love come crashing down around you, everyone who loves you will be gone, and you’ll have no-one but yourself. On that day, you’ll understand.”  _

 

Scott fled the room, barely holding back tears. Gordon hadn’t bothered. Canada had come in to check on him soon afterwards. When he’d wiped his face with the offered tissue it came away wet with tears. 

 

“Gordon, what happened?” 

“I...I messed up, Cana. I fucking ruined my relationship with my brother. He probably hates me now, you know? He just...I failed him. We promised each other that we’d stick together, that we’d always be on the same track but...I guess I lied. I  _ promised  _ to support him no matter what happened, and I didn't.”

 

Canada wrapped her arms around Gordon, whispering reassurances to her cousin, while he just cried quietly. He was well aware of the sorry sight he surely was, but didn’t have the energy to care. He and Scott had never fought like this before.

 

After their argument, Scott had consistently avoided Gordon for weeks. He didn't pick up Gordon’s calls, didn’t reply to his messages unless it was business related, and neither did he respond to Gordon during conversations. All in all, Scott acted like Gordon didn’t exist.

 

Gordon had stewed in guilt for a while, before regaining his composure enough to venture an apology. As he stood poised at Scott’s door with the apology gift (an orchid, one of Scott’s many favourite flowers), his nerve temporarily failed him. 

 

What if Scott was still mad? What would he do then? Just take the orchid and slam the door in Gordon’s face? Refuse to accept the gift? Or, what if Scott mutilated the flower before sending it back as a sign of continued hostility? Gordon wasn’t sure if he could keep living like this, constantly wondering and tiptoeing around Scott, but neither did he have the courage to confront his brother if Scott was still mad at him. 

 

Gordon had just turned to leave when a gunshot rang out from Scott’s room. 

 

After a couple of frantic attempts, Gordon kicked open the door to Scott's apartment, dropping the orchid as he rushed inside. It shattered, spewing dirt and ceramic shards across the floor, just as Gordon flung open the bedroom door. 

 

Scott was lying on the floor, blood slowly seeping into the carpet below him. A red blot was blooming on his shirt, and a 9mm pistol smoking next to him. Scott looked surprisingly serene, almost content. He opened his eyes, squinting at Gordon. 

 

“Gordon? Why...You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I came to apologise. But enough about me, you’re  _ bleeding! _ ” 

 

Scott chuckled weakly, wincing at the pain the action caused. Gordon noticed. His panic worsened by the second. The blood only seemed to spread faster. Scott grabbed one of Gordon’s now flailing hands to try and calm him down. 

 

“That  _ was  _ the point of the exercise, but alright. I hit a major blood vessel, I think, so the bleeding’s...probably not going to lighten up. Sorry for not being able to properly accept your apology.” 

 

Gordon had started weeping, tears mingling with the blood on the carpet. “Scott, I-” 

“ _ Hush.  _ It’s not your fault. I just...can’t do this anymore. I’m not strong enough for that.” 

“Bullshit. You’re stronger than I am, remember? You always have to open pickle jars for me.”    
  


Scott smiled at that. “Bit embarrassing, to have a stronger little brother. But then again, y-you always had better impulse control than I did.” He winced as his breathing caused another stab of pain in his chest. Gordon pushed Scott’s sweaty hair out of his face gently. 

 

“Please, Scott. Don’t leave me behind. I can’t do this without you. I can’t deal with everyone else without you, you’re the only one who understands, the only one I can trust! I need you with me,  _ Please Scott! _ ” 

 

“Say it Big Brother. I didn’t really mean it then, and I want to hear it now. Please?” 

 

Scott was giving him that look again. Like a puppy who knew it had you wrapped around its paw but was going to wheedle whatever it wanted out of you anyway. And you’d give it to them. Because you loved them. 

 

“Don’t leave me alone with everyone else. _Please_ , Little Brother.”

“I’ll never truly be leaving you alone, Big Brother.” Scott patted Gordon’s head tenderly. “I’ll always be in there with you.” 

 

“...Cop-out.” 

“I know, but It’ll take a while for an ambulance to get here, even if you called when you heard the shot...I’ve probably got less than five minutes left.” 

 

Gordon laid down beside Scott, struggling not to sob, clutching his hand tightly. They lay in silence, until Gordon began to sing quietly. 

 

_ “If I could begin to be _

_ Half of what you see in me _

_ I could do about anything _

_Maybe even learn how to love_

_ Like you...”  _

 

Scott began to sing too, as well as he could, squeezing Gordon’s hand reassuringly. His grip was getting weaker.

 

_ “When I see the way you act _

_ Even if I’m not coming back _

_ I know you could do about anything  _

_ Maybe even learn how to love _

_ You too...”  _

 

They lay there, singing together, until Scott had gone silent and the tears dried onto Gordon’s cheeks. When the authorities and bystanders arrived, they found a silent Gordon lying hand-in-hand with a corpse.

 

\---------------------------- 

 

Gordon held a hand up to his face, feeling the salt lines dried onto his skin even as fresh tears traced over them again. 

 

Scott had always been more valuable of the duo in their family’s eyes, the darling and social butterfly. After Scott died, Gordon lost what little favour and influence he’d gained as Scott’s brother. It stung, that he’d fallen this far, but honestly it hadn’t been all it was cracked up to be. 

 

There had always been too much pretence and deception, always having to manoeuvre around verbal pitfalls and honeyed lies. The only ones he and Scott could tolerate were Canada and Mallard. Canada had always been caring, especially since her preferred strategy was to kill with kindness. Mallard changed moods and tactics faster than his opponents could keep up with. 

 

As he surveyed the stormy horizon, he’d dimly wondered what Scott would have recommended he do in this situation. He would probably have intervened earlier, and he’d be planning a wedding instead of a funeral for himself. It paid to have a plan for these sorts of situations because their family loved to meddle. Thankfully, Scott had left instructions for his funeral and the family had been unable to intervene. But North’s funeral, all those years ago, had been modified from the quiet affair he would have wanted into an overblown gala-esque event. Scott had convinced him to leave early. 

 

Gordon left for home as the first drops of rain fell, fat and heavy, upon the granite headstone and road. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zinnias are "thoughts of/for departed friends"  
> Rosemary is remembrance  
> Crimson roses are mourning


	7. Show and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canada learns something new about Gordon, and James shows Gordon something unintentionally.

Canada had met him outside Paxton’s a few minutes early, and she’d done a double take upon seeing his face. 

“You look...ill.”

“Long story. I’ll explain inside.” 

Once they’d settled inside a booth, Canada pulled a briefcase from the large handbag she’d brought with her. She peered up at Gordon expectantly. 

“I assume you didn’t bring me here just to chat. Do you require legal advice?” 

“Uh, yes and no.” 

Canada glanced at him briefly, before setting the briefcase on the seat next to her and returning her handbag below the table. She schooled her features into a neutral position as Gordon fidgeted beneath her gaze. If it was possible to feel chastised by a younger cousin, boy was Gordon feeling it now. 

“So...” 

“I need you to approve and execute a legal document, which is highly important to me, and prevent our family form meddling with its contents.” 

Canada raised an eyebrow. What kind of documents would Gordon need that fulfilled those criteria? A nuptial agreement? She internally braced herself for whatever harebrained scheme Gordon could be attempting. She read through the document Gordon handed her, and nearly dropped it. 

“What did you do?” she murmured, unsettled. Gordon had never been one to meet deadlines this early, especially for a will. He was only 32, what in blazes was he playing at? Then again...She’d never seen him this gaunt and haggard. 

Gordon said nothing, but broke into a coughing fit before he’d been able to answer her. She saw the way he’d clapped both hands over his mouth, and it clicked in the back of her mind. She prayed she was wrong, but if she wasn’t... 

Gordon slowly pulled away his hand, and she became disturbed by the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she tugged his wrist so she could see what he’d coughed up. He’d offered only a token resistance before she’d managed to wrestle his hand over to her side of the table. 

**In a small splatter of blood rested two black rose petals, stained a crimson hue.**

She let go, and he’d automatically pulled his hand close and began wiping it with a packet of tissues from his pocket. Canada was still in shock. Hanahaki? Why did Gordon have Hanahaki, and why hadn’t he told his object of affection? Was it a taboo relationship? She’d been about to ask, but Gordon pre-empted her question. 

“They’re getting married. I’m preparing to say goodbye.” 

Canada’s head shot up in surprise. Getting married? No wonder Gordon looked so wretched. His love was going to be with someone else.    
  


“Are they at least a good match?” 

 

“He’s picked a good one. His fiancé’s one of the nicest, most caring and supportive person I’ve ever met, although Spencer and Bittern would have hated Edward.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“He used to be a she.” 

She slowly leaned back in her seat, mentally running through the situation. Gordon had never been truly stable emotionally after Scott died, but this would most definitely have pushed him over the precipice. 

“Are you going to the wedding? Please tell me you didn’t get overly involved.” 

“The flower arrangements I was in charge of organising will definitely arrive on time, but depending on various factors I might not. I’ll only know closer to the date.” 

Canada began massaging her temples with one hand, trying to push past the migraine she could feel coming on. She’d absently taken a painkiller when Gordon handed her the box, using her water to wash it down. How did Gordon manage to do this to himself? Neither Bittern nor Spencer did things like this! 

Neither Bittern nor Spencer cared about anyone but themselves, though. They were too frigid and cruel. 

“Cana, I’m sorry to spring this on you, but you’re the only one in the family I trust to be involved in this. The others would all try to change my terms to benefit from it.” 

“You’re already favouring me pretty heavily Gordon. 40% of the specified combined assets? Why so much?” 

“I want to leave my apartment to Henry and Edward. They can sell it if they want, I’m not too fussed, but I just want to give them something valuable to possibly remember me by. Mallard’s a good businessman, he’ll grow the 60% of remaining assets with zero problem. You’re getting 40% for being a decent person, especially in Scott’s wake, and I’ve put aside a sizeable amount of money for funeral expenses and upkeep/maintenance costs for both myself and Scott. If I didn’t, you know they’d neglect both graves until the weeds and thorns overtook them.” 

Canada had raised an eyebrow at that, but she had to agree. Their family had pretty much abandoned Scott’s grave to the elements. Scott had been their darling, who knew what they’d do to someone like Gordon. Many of their relatives viewed Gordon as a disappointment and failure for not preventing Scott’s death, despite the root cause of his sorrow being their rejection of him. 

“I’ll make sure it happens, but please take care of yourself, alright Gordon?” 

“I’ll try, Cana. No promises.” 

The rest of the meal passed in silence, and Cana paid the bill before giving Gordon a brief hug. The way he’d stiffened anxiously, like he was expecting a blow instead, cut Canada up inside. Both of them drank in the privacy of their homes, but neither slept well that night.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

They’d decided to hold a massive buck party, separated into two parts: one for Henry, and one for Edward. Guests were encouraged to switch between the two at will, and there was an open bar. 

 

Gordon had been invited, but didn’t intend on staying the whole night. He didn’t want to spoil the event with his illness. He just wanted to go home and sleep. 

He’d ended up at the bar, nursing a tonic and gin, watching everyone else. He’d already gone through a bottle of whiskey, but he was only now feeling buzzed. His alcohol tolerance had definitely increased since this whole thing started. But even as he drank and struggled to keep himself from just leaving, he caught sight of Henry. 

Dear sweet Henry, flushed from dancing and alcohol, looking happier than Gordon had ever seen him. As Henry danced with some of his friends, Gordon was etching that happy expression into his memory. It was killing him, not having Henry love him back, but he couldn’t bear to make Henry feel unhappy. Had Gordon intervened, Henry would never be this happy. Henry deserved someone better than Gordon, and he was slowly coming to accept his situation. He only hoped that, once he’d faded from their lives, that they’d be able to move on. 

He turned to go, but one of the drunken revellers slopped vodka down his front. He’d simply stared at the damp patch on his shirt and made a beeline for the bathroom. As he mopped up the spilt vodka using the bathroom mirror as a guide, he'd heard a soft coughing noise from one of the stalls behind him. A short silence, then the flushing of a toilet. The door swung open to reveal James, one of Edward's friends, looking queasy and worn out. As he stepped forward to wash his hands, a single purple hyacinth fluttered to the ground. 

"Who is it, then?" 

James stopped in his tracks, quivering. He seemed to want to deny it, before he'd let his head drop, staring into the sink. 

"...Edward." 

Gordon nodded. "Henry." 

James let out a bitter laugh, before his shoulders slumped. "How bad is it for you?" 

Gordon told James quietly. James sucked air through his teeth with a soft hiss. "God, that bites. I'm not sure I can wait for that." 

"If you really want to live, but you're willing to sacrifice those feelings, get the flowers removed. Drink a super acidic thing, or something that would make you expel the root ball. You won't feel the same love for them anymore, but you'll live long enough to maybe stay friends them. Look after them." 

James shuddered, but seemed to be considering it. "I'll just see, I guess. If it gets intolerable I might need to do that. It's better than dying, even if it sucks either way." 

Gordon turned to leave, but James called out to him. "You won't tell anyone, right?" He seemed anxious. 

Gordon turned. "As long as you tell no one about me." They shook on it, and Gordon left James in that bathroom to ponder his life choices.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Gordon had to admit, he was sort of scared about whether dying would hurt. He'd assumed he would die before the pain really kicked in, but he wasn't really sure. He decided to take some painkillers and aspirin if he felt the flowers puncture a lung and hope that was good enough. If it wasn't...oh well. He had enough alcohol to get utterly hammered if he died. He'd hidden a few bottles of highly alcoholic soju around the apartment, and was fairly sure it'd do well enough when the time came. It didn't need to last very long. 

He sometimes thought about Scott, but the ache in his heart seemed to have lessened every time he recalled that night. Maybe lying next to Scott's grave and finally accepting what happened that night had helped him to let go. But he was sure now that he understood how Scott felt that night. He was just so tired. 

Yeah, he probably wasn't going to make the wedding. But the alcohol went a long way towards forgetting. 

That gave him an idea. 

Completely intoxicated, Gordon set up his phone and began to talk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purple Hyacinth: Sorrow, Forgiveness


	8. Wedding Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding arrives.
> 
> Gordon finds oblivion.

The morning of the wedding, Gordon knew upon waking that he wouldn’t be able to make it. Not out the door, not to the wedding, not even to the reception afterwards. He’d called Henry early that morning, but he never picked up. Gordon left a voicemail instead.

 

“Hey, uh, I’m not sure I’ll make it to the wedding today. I know it’s a very important day for you, and I don’t want you to modify it just because I’m feeling ill. Must have eaten something dodgy in the past few days, but seriously. Go get married to Edward. It’ll be fine, I’ll talk to you after. Might even see you at the reception, depending on how I feel. Don’t worry about the flowers, I’ve made sure they’ll get there no matter what. Have a great wedding day, Henry. Sweep that magnificent husband of yours off his feet. Or, you know, get him to do that for you. He’s shorter though, so he might have a problem with that...Heh. I’ll stop rambling now. Bye, Henry.”

 

He busted out the soju, popped half a bottle of paracetamol tablets, and settled down in his bathroom to wait it out. He noticed that the Hanahaki flowers had become limited to four varieties: black roses, red anemones, purple hyacinths and yellow tulips. Looking up their meanings, Gordon could not restrain his laughter. Even this close to death the flowers taunted him.

 

Black roses: death.

Red anemones: a forsaken love.

Purple hyacinth: sorrows and regret.

Yellow tulips: hopeless love.

 

He’d had a brilliant idea for what to do with them, although he was drunk and his standard for ‘good ideas’ was debatable. He pushed the black ones furthest away, and pulled the yellow tulips closest to him, creating concentric rings of colour that told his story: a man suffering utterly hopeless love, forsaken, filled with sorrow and regrets, dying. Drunk Gordon, a much worse decision maker than Sober Gordon, thought this amusing to the extreme. It took Gordon a few minutes to calm himself and stop laughing.

 

As he lay back against the wall of the bathtub, surrounded by flowers, he felt something. He was definitely alone in that bathroom. He vaguely remembered reading that mixing alcohol and painkillers could cause hallucinations. He smiled as it finally clicked why this sensation was so familiar. It felt like a hug. Not just any hug, not a hug from Cana or, god forbid, Mallard. It felt like Scott, who used to sneak up on Gordon and trap his arms in a hug, laughing as Gordon tried to shake him off. He let the smile play across his lips as he enjoyed the feeling.

 

“Scott.”

“Gordon.”

 

Looking over his shoulder, Gordon could see the hazy outline of his brother. Scott had his arms around him, grinning back.

 

“You waited for me?”

“Wasn’t about to leave you behind,” Scott replied. “I’m your brother, after all!”

 

They lay in comfortable silence, before Gordon broke it by asking:

 

“Scott...Does it hurt?”

“Dying? Well, I suppose it depends. It did for me, but I did shoot myself.”

“...I’m scared.”

**“Hey, it’ll be ok. I’m not leaving. We’ll get through this together.”**

 

Gordon shivered. He could feel thorns brush against his windpipe. His hand found Scott’s and grasped it tightly.

 

As the roses bloomed out of his mouth, Gordon was desperately fighting the urge to remove the flowers. It hurt, it hurt so much! He could feel Scott trying to hold him down, even as he convulsed with pain.

 

**“It’s just me, I’m here with you now.”**

 

Gordon let out a soft moan of pain around the roses, the thorns nicking his lips with every movement.

 

**“I know it hurts but I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”**

 

Scot was gripping Gordon’s hand, and they were both shaking. The edges of Gordon’s vision were beginning to blur and darken. He could feel tears leaking from his eyes.

 

**“It’s okay I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”**

 

The black had spread to the middle of his vision. He could barely see anything, and could almost not feel the pain anymore. He could hear Scott still talking in the background, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. His limbs felt numb.

 

His hand fell to the floor as he stopped breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip Gordon. You were a good boi.


	9. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath. And a ray of hope.

Canada and Mallard were outside Gordon’s apartment, waiting for Henry and Edward. The two had been worried about Gordon, who had never actually attended the wedding nor had he called or emailed back. Mallard had temporarily taken over Gordon’s business, providing executive decisions, but he was also secretly perturbed by his absence. He just couldn’t afford to outwardly show it.

As Henry and Edward arrived, Cana turned the door handle. She’d expected it to be locked, but it swung open easily. Odd. Gordon never liked visitors, and always locked his doors. She felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.

As the group spilled into the apartment, the first thing that she noticed was the abundance of flowers. Gordon had never been one for fresh flowers, and these weren’t from any florist that she knew of. Crimson roses and zinnias in vases practically lined the walls.

The apartment seemed to have lain undisturbed for a while. A thin coat of dust covered the kitchen benches and stools, and the trash held only a few microwaveable meal packages. The bed hadn’t been slept in for a few days.

A USB sitting on the table had only one video on it, with the title: ‘have u checked bathroom’. None of them had thought to do that yet. Mallard pushed open the bathroom door, and gasped.

Surrounded by fresh flowers, Gordon lay braced against the tub. A pair of roses bloomed from his mouth, blood trailed from the corners of his lips. The roses were a brilliant sapphire and a soft black. Mallard resisted the urge to try and revive Gordon. It would be useless: Gordon had been dead for several days. Yet, if you looked only at his face, he seemed almost peaceful.

The video was ten minutes of a drunken Gordon explaining everything to the camera. The Hanahaki, the flowers, everything. Henry was crying in Edward’s arms, as Gordon specifically addressed him in the video.

“And Henry’s probably really upset. I-I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t want him to be really upset about me. I made the decision to not say anything for a reason. Besides, he’s just gotten married. Don’t sit here, crying over me! Heh, you’ve got better things to do Henry. Go live a life, and make it a good one. If you really have to, do it for me. I’ve seen the way you look at Edward. You’ll be happier together than I could ever make you. Just - Just don’t waste time feeling sad for me.”

Gordon smiled warmly at the camera, face flushed with alcohol. “I’ll miss you all a lot. Except for Spencer and Bittern. I’ll miss you two marginally less, because you were assholes, but you are family so I’ll miss you a bit. Goodnight, or uh, whatever time it is when you watch this.”

\---------------------------------------------------

Gordon’s funeral was a quiet affair, as per his will’s instructions. Canada had done her best to execute the will properly, and Gordon was buried next to Scott. Mallard grew the assets Gordon had left to him with ease, and started a support group for Hanahaki sufferers and survivors.   


Henry and Edward had rented out Gordon’s apartment for extra cash while they were still living in Edward’s flat, before they used the savings to buy a house in the suburbs. They continued to rent it out, but slowly stopped actively thinking about it.

Canada took responsibility for Gordon and Scott’s graves, keeping them tidy and leaving flowers with some regularity, every month or so. Henry regularly contributed flowers he’d grown in the rooftop garden of Edward’s apartment block. He and Canada grew close over it. Canada often found it easier to think through her problems and emotions when she visited Scott and Gordon. Now and then Henry would catch a whisper on the wind, or a glimpse of the pair. The last time Henry had visited was to tell Gordon and Scott about Edward’s imminent pregnancy. As he’d left that day, he could have sworn he saw Gordon with another figure standing on the hill, waving goodbye.

\---------------------------------------------------

The pregnancy went smoothly, with Edward delivering a healthy little girl. They’d named her Felicity, for the happiness she’d brought to their lives. James became her godfather, and he constantly doted on the little girl. Henry had noticed the almost longing way that James looked at Edwards sometimes, and after confronting him James had admitted to Henry that he had Hanahaki over Edward before the wedding. He hadn’t wanted to break the couple up either, and took Gordon’s suggestion to get the flowers surgically removed. He didn’t love Edward like that anymore, but he took a new kind of joy in making little Felicity smile. She had her father’s smile, he’d said. Henry wholeheartedly agreed.

Felicity had also had imaginary friends for a few years. She talked about a ‘Scotty’ and ‘Gordy’ who were brothers and looked like Gordon and Scott when she’d drawn them. They had taught her about all the different flowers in the garden. She showed Henry how to make a flower crown, which she said she’d learned from the two. Neither Edward nor James had taught her that. Henry trusted Gordon and Scott to keep Felicity out of too much trouble.

As Henry and Edward had held Felicity close after a particularly exciting day for the little one, Henry couldn’t help but feel that his life, while by no means perfect, was as happy as it could possibly have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming on this journey with me. Again, thanks to katdamn and hoisinn for getting this fic.
> 
> Thank you to bitmyshinyredtender, Ky and anyone else who enjoyed/kudosed this fic.
> 
> Merry Christmas you beautiful people.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry.
> 
> Thank you so much.


End file.
